Just to be clear, I was about TWO MINUTES AWAY from appropriating Edward Snowden’s smashed, destroyed computer to be my own from Verizon’s Customer Service. I don’t need any British intelligence to oversee its destruction, though, just my office mate. And like, the dozen doughnuts I’ll inhale from stress eating.
Vincent van Gogh was, like, super famous for writing letters to friends and his brother Theo. (The Vincent van Gogh Letter Project has more than 900 letters either sent or received by van Gogh.)
He once wrote about a fable where a moth is drawn to a candle, only to burn its wings. So he complains like a little baby and flees. The candle then dwindles down to nothing, only to say,
‘You unjustly reproached me, while I loved you in silence. Now I die, adieu, fly to your other loves.’
Van Gogh, of course, compares the candle to a woman, and the moth to a man. He asks his friend, Anthon Rappard:
Viewed thus, men don’t play a very noble role — well, but that is in fact the case.
NO DUH. I mean, hello, you had me at fleeing like a baby when it burns its wings against a very hot predator woman candle. It’s a tough world, lads. But Sweet Jesus if I’ll be that desperate to loving in silence; I’ll just angry text for a day and then ghost.
While this only looks like it’s drawn on a napkin, Joe Bradley’s “Unknown” portrait is actually a print on newspaper. Let’s pretend it’s on a napkin, though, for the sake of me thinking, I’d rather have this passed to me at a bar than someone’s goddamn phone number.
Free prints from @littlegoldpixel trump any curb art lately.
You know when you’re on a relatively mediocre date, and the guy says, “Okay, you get to take one painting home. Which would it be?” IS THIS A TEST?! You expect me to encapsulate everything about my dynamic, sensational self in one painting or sculpture? Get real. (I’m not speaking from experience or anything…it’s clearly a hypothetical.)
Turns out though, this abstract date question can actually be made real! You can buy one of Wade Guyton‘s pieces that’s also at MoMA…for a measly 159 dollars.
You can even scoop this book up on Amazon, for crying out loud:
It’s not even an add-on item. Talk about art for art’s sake here.
When someone’s asked if I ventured out in the snowstorm the past five days. NO, alright?! I was quite content watching “Making a Murderer” and responding to all the hopeful meet-up invitations with, “Can’t. Busy.”
ICYMI: The Infanta Isabella Clara Eugenia had a pretty sweet reign in the 17th century, and was married to Albert*, Archduke of Austria.
*Don’t worry, the Prince Albert you’re thinking of (and if you’re not, major kudos), has no relation to this broad. Apparently, all that type of Prince Albert’s an urban legend, but IDK–I can’t really Google that stuff at a Starbucks, you know? This ish is a family establishment.
When those little texting bubbles appear on your screen, only to disappear.
I often strive to be a Mademoiselle Becat: humble and effortlessly striking, while rocking both a corset and a top knot. Christ, if only. Instead, I’m more the chick whispering about how being a girl like that must be so damn boring.
“No, please, continue to describe at length your social calendar from which I am conspicuously absent.”
No, Lisa, really. I’m dying to know about how you’ll be trekking to a bottomless mimo brunch in this goddamn snowstorm. I’m sure it will be snow much fun, which girl, yes! Use that as your Snap Story caption with, like, all the sparkles and champs emojis.
arthipstory 